The Owl Killers

father ulfrid

yOU COULD HAVE PICKED SOMEWHERE WARMER for a lover’s tryst,” Hilary sang out softly from among the trees.

I whirled around in the direction of the taunt, but I couldn’t see anyone in the copse. There was still another hour of daylight left, but the clouds had rolled in and light rain was falling, so that it seemed already twilight.

“I thought you said you never wanted to see me again,” Hilary said mockingly. “But I told you you’d be begging me to come back, didn’t I?”

“Stop playing games, Hilary. Come out.”

I jumped as a hand clapped down on my shoulder.

Hilary laughed and planted a savage kiss on my mouth. “Anyway, why in God’s name did we have to meet in a wood? If you think I’m going to strip off here in the middle of winter, you can think again. That stinking crypt in the Cathedral was cold enough to freeze my balls off, but earwigs and thorns up the arse as well, forget it. Why couldn’t we meet at your cottage?”

“We were nearly caught there, remember. And things are worse now. The Owl Masters are watching everyone. They’d spot a stranger instantly and start asking questions. Any one of the villagers could be an Owl Master or be spying for them. It had to be here. I couldn’t risk anywhere else.”

The rain pattered softly on the dead leaves underfoot and the bushes trembled. I glanced round uneasily. Rustling and creaking seemed to come from every direction. I’d never realised how much noise there was in the woods. I’d always thought them silent peaceful places. This hadn’t been such a good idea. The old undergrowth could conceal a dozen pairs of watching eyes or listening ears.

“Here, you’re shaking, my poor Ulfrido,” Hilary said, grasping my hand. “You look terrible. Sit down. Has something happened?” Hilary’s voice had lost its lazy drawl and for once there was genuine concern in his dark eyes, something I’d not seen for many months.

There was a fallen oak close by. Now as I half leant, half sat on the great trunk, Hilary lifted the hem of my robe, sliding his hand up between my thighs. I shuddered as his cold fingers, wetted from the rain, ran lightly across my prick, stroking the length of it, cupping my balls, but gently for once. It was an old familiar gesture. He had not been tender like this for many months and I sensed it was meant only for comfort, not to tease. I ached to surrender my body to his touch, but I dared not. I tore myself away from his hand and stood up, though it cost me every ounce of resolve to do it.

Hilary broke off a twig and began snapping it into pieces. “I should be cross with you, Ulfrido. I don’t know why I came.” He stuck out his lower lip in a parody of a sulky child. “Sending me away, then not a word for weeks. Now you expect me to come running whenever you snap your fingers. I had a good mind not to come at all.”

He slouched against the fallen oak, idly scuffing the crumbling brown leaf mould like a bored child. I felt angry and resentful. He had no idea what I’d been through the last few days. For a moment I was tempted to pour out all the events of the All Hallows’ Eve. But no one who had not witnessed it could possibly understand the horror of it. And what would I say if he asked me what I had done? I could not admit aloud that I, who had been so determined to fight this evil, had merely turned and fled like a coward with all the other villagers.

“Well?” Hilary asked impatiently. “You dragged me all the way to this arsehole of a village. You must want something. Talk to me or fuck me, it’s all the same to me, but either way get on with it; I’m not sitting here all night getting soaked.”

My anger boiled up again and I jumped to my feet. “You want to know what I want? I’ll tell you. I want money.”

“Money?” Hilary repeated incredulously. “What could you possibly want money for? You’re a bloody priest, for shit’s sake. Good living. Free cottage, free food, free wine! You’ve got it all. You don’t have to break your back to earn it. Recite a few prayers in Latin and it all comes pouring into your lap without you having to lift a finger. I wish I had it so easy.”

Before I realised what I was doing I had drawn back my fist. Hilary raised his arm to shield his face. I felt instantly ashamed and annoyed with myself. I couldn’t afford to drive away the one person I had left. I lowered my hand, and saw the look of contempt on Hilary’s face. I knew he despised me because I’d wanted to punch him and also because he knew I lacked the guts to do it.

I took a shaky breath. “The villagers didn’t pay all their tithes. I gave Bishop Salmon everything I had in the barn, but it wasn’t enough, so I had to borrow the rest and use the church silver as surety. It’s not been missed yet. But I have to redeem the silver in time for the Christmas Mass or D’Acaster will realise it is gone. I have to have the money to get it back.”

“My poor little Ulfrido. I wish I could help you, really I do.”

Hilary moved closer. He stroked the back of my neck. I could smell the sweet musky perfume of oil that he rubbed on his skin. “But I’m the one who comes to you for money, Ulfrido. You know I can never keep a coin for more than a day or two without it burning a hole in my purse. It’s my nature; I can’t help it.”

“But you can get money. Those other men you… entertain. They’d give you money if you asked.”

“Are you turning whoremaster now?” Hilary laughed and pressed still closer. He ran a finger across my groin, making me shiver. “And I thought you didn’t want me to entertain other men. Or do you secretly get a thrill from it? Do you lie in your cold empty bed, Ulfrido, thinking about me with other lovers?” He suddenly crushed my balls in his fist, making me gasp.

I pushed him away. “You know I loathe the thought of you with other men, but I know that you do it. You’ve always enjoyed throwing that in my face.”

His mocking grin did not deny it.

“Please, Hilary, I beg you: If you ever had any feelings for me, help me. There is no one else I can ask. The villagers won’t give me what they owe me because the Owl Masters are taking every penny from them in exchange for their so-called protection. My church is practically empty.”

Hilary leant against a tree, staring up at the dripping branches, as if he was already bored by the subject. “There must be something you can sell. A relic? Every church has those.”

“Not this one,” I said bitterly. “If I had a relic, the villagers would be flocking into the church eager to hand over their coins for its miracles and protection. Pilgrims would be queuing up to pay to touch it. All my problems would be over. But you need money to buy relics.”

Now it was I who moved nearer, caressing the silky black curls of his hair. “Please, Hilary. I’ll do anything you ask, anything. But you must get me the money. I’m begging you.”

Hilary’s lips sought mine, his hot tongue slipped between my teeth, his hand pressed against my buttock, pulling my groin against his, sending a shudder through my body. We pressed hard against each other, feeling those old waves of passion surge through us again. For a heartbeat, I didn’t care about tithes or Owl Masters. All that mattered was that perfect, beautiful body I held in my arms.

Hilary bent his head; his soft lips brushed my ear.

“Forget about that arsehole of a village and their poxy silver. Come away with me, Ulfrido, now, tonight. We could go to London. I’ve always wanted to go there. There’d be just us together. I’ll never fuck another man, I swear. I only want you. In London no one would know you were a priest-”

“Hilary, don’t you think I would have already done that if I could? I may be walking around freely without chains, but Ulewic is my prison. The Bishop gave me a choice: Come to this place or stand trial for what you and I have done. You know the penalties for our crime-mutilation at the very least, most likely death. I had no option but to agree to come here. And the only way out of this village is if the Bishop himself releases me from it. If I try to run away, I’ll be arrested. And this time there will be no way of escaping punishment.”

“If you won’t come with me then you don’t love me.” Hilary pushed me away petulantly. “You’re just like the rest, take what you want, then-”

I seized Hilary’s shoulders and shook him violently. “Look, can’t you understand, you spoilt selfish little whore, that the Bishop’s Commissarius was against me being spared from the start? He’s only waiting for me to make one more mistake and then he’ll force the Bishop to have me arrested. Do you think this is some sort of game, something that doesn’t concern you? Make no mistake, you bitch, that if what I’ve done is made public, I’ll name you too. So you’d better help me, unless you want to find yourself on the gallows with your own bollocks stuffed in your mouth.”

Fear and hatred flooded Hilary’s face and I knew I’d made a fatal mistake.

“Hilary… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t. It’s just that I’ve been so worried… not sleeping. I lose my temper, but you know I don’t mean it…”

His dark eyes stared back at me, cold and contemptuous.

I tried to put my arm around him, but he pulled away from me. “Hilary, please forgive me. I swear on my life, on my immortal soul, I’d never name you. I will always protect you. Haven’t I already done so? I refused to name you even when my Lord the Bishop commanded me to. He had me flogged for that. You’ve seen the scars. They bloodied my back with the whip and still I refused to name you. I’d suffer anything for you. I couldn’t bear to see them mar your face or body.”

I knelt down on the sodden leaves, clutching the hem of his cloak. “You are my angel, my beautiful dark angel. I’ve given up everything for you. But… just this once I need your help. I will never ask you again, but I’m begging you now, help me, Hilary.”

“Get up. You look ridiculous and pathetic!”

I struggled to my feet, my face burning with shame and humiliation.

“I’ll get your money,” Hilary said coldly. “But you’ll have to give me time. A month, six weeks. I’ll have to get small amounts from different people, otherwise they’ll ask too many questions about why I want it. Let me go now.”

“But you will come back as soon as you can… with the money?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

But his smile was too bright, too brittle, and I knew, deep down, I’d never see him again. I had overplayed my hand and we both knew it. Anyone with any sense would take what I’d said as a warning and get as far away from Norwich as they could before the inevitable happened.

He kissed me before he walked away. One last kiss. It is always the last kiss that betrays.

What had I expected? That Hilary would do what I begged him because he loved me? Angels cannot love. They have no pity, no compassion. They were created to be adored by mortal men and they scorn those that worship them. They exist only to punish us for our desire of them. They are our temptation and our chastisement. And we kiss the rod they wield, because we are… ridiculous and pathetic. We deserve no mercy from them and we receive none.

I had learnt one thing that night. I’d had it branded onto my soul. Only the weak show compassion, and that is what destroys them. The Commissarius had no mercy for anyone and God had rewarded his ruthlessness by making him one of the most powerful men in the See of Norwich, and doubtless he would climb higher still, even as far as the Vatican or the King’s Court. But look where compassion had got me-a priest of some piss-poor village in the most godforsaken corner of England.

It was my compassion that had left the tithe barn half filled and the church half empty. It was my charity that made me defend those arrogant hags in the house of women from the Owl Masters and the villagers. It was my pity that made me forgive that filthy little whore, Hilary, and take him to my bed again and again. All that I had once believed were Christian virtues, I now saw, were nothing more than my contemptible weakness. I would not make those mistakes again. I would learn ruthlessness from the angels, the favoured ones of God. From now on, I would become as merciless as them.

A relic, Hilary said. But I didn’t need money to buy a relic; there was one in the village ready for the taking. A holy relic in a hags’ kitchen. Those women had no right to it. That Host had been consecrated by the Church. It belonged to the Church. It belonged to me as Christ’s minister in this stinking midden.

If I’d had such a thing in my possession on All Hallows’ night, I would have been able to fight that demon. Even now if it was in my hands I could send that monster back into the depths of Hell from whence it had come. The villagers wouldn’t be laughing at me then. They’d be hammering on the church door begging to be allowed back, pleading for my protection. The house of women would have to surrender it to me. I had the authority to demand it. And I would demand it. I would make those whores give it to me.